Alterations
by The-Music-of-hands
Summary: The bad guy never gets the girl forever, but at least he gets her for a little while...


**Alterations**

_'The bad guy never gets the girl forever, but at least he gets her for a little while.'_

He steals her because he feels that he must. Magnetism in its worst, his constant efforts of evil impression never fail to do the exact opposite.

Instead of curious intrigue? He's just another headline. Instead of her wanting to know about him? She wants to know how to get away.

She sighs, and he notes from five feet away that his eyes are inexplicably moist from his previous thoughts. Swiftly he swivels the chair and wipes furiously at disobedient eyes, cursing lowly under his breath. Deep breath.

In... Out.

In.

Okay.

He turns back around, accommodating the usual plastic smirk, eyebrows lifted, cheeks freckled with a blush (thank God for the other worldly skin discoloration.) He clears his throat, she rolls her eyes.

"Do you know why I have brought you here?" he questions- because to be completely honest, he doesn't know himself.

"Why would I know?" she snaps, rolling her eyes and wetting her lips with her tongue. She takes a moment of silence to glimpse around the ever so familiar base of his. Pacific blue eyes examine the aquariums of guppies set off neatly in one corner, and a teetering stack of tatty LIFE magazines. She notices a framed newspaper clipping of none other than herself, hair neatly clipped back and a breezy green blouse adorning bony shoulders, a microphone gripped in one hand while the corners of her smile tip upwards. Hmm.

Good picture.

But that's besides the point.

She groans, already bored, while he sits in his leather cushion chair, pensive with fingertips thoughtfully pressed together. Melancholy eyebrows furrow.

"Well... I could always let you go, I suppose..." he suggests, hoping, wishing that she'll object. She doesn't.

Instantly she perks up. "Really?" she asks?

A sigh. "No."

"..." breathe in, breathe out. "...why am I here? What's the point?"

He looks up from a head held in trembling hands, eyes large and confused, and so, so, so damn hurt. He watches her tied up like some animal above a pit of snapping reptiles, and regrets. Oh how he regrets having her like this, forcing her to be in his company. It's low, and frankly? Meaningless.

"I-.. I...don't—" stutter, words skipping over words like raindrops on glass marbles, he shivers and shakes, and he can't seem to compose himself no matter how blurry she is in his line of vision.

Her voice reaches across the room, a solid echo. "Well, are you going to tell me why, or just leave me sitting here?"

She knows. She always has. Now? He doesn't give a shit (He always has though.)

"I don't know!" the words jerk out of his mouth like barbed wire, eyes furrowed and manic and his palms are sweating, sweating, sweating, and she's sitting there patient and bored, and waiting, waiting for him to untie her, to release her from him.

She never wanted him, he's sure.

But instead of her laughing, or crying, she states point blank and smiles. "But you do know. I know it,"

It is with this that he rushes towards her with a speed he never knew he had. With a jolt, she holds her breath as his hands fly to the ropes with a quickness, the knots deftly untied and left loosely pooled around her ankles. He retreats three steps, eyes glowering fiercely, but sadly.

He points towards the door that actually means exit, and sighs. "You're right. I do."

Slowly she stands. Takes a step.

He doesn't notice for the blur in his vision, the clicking and whirring of the building around them a deafening heartbeat falling like a landslide inside of his ears.

"Why me? Is there something I know that you need?"

He groans. Is she just playing naive? Playing the part of the clueless damsel? Because it's really beginning to piss him off.

He knows that she's aware. He can tell.

She's always been able to read him like a book.

His voice stutters, but grows stronger, and before he knows it, he's almost screaming, sobbing, or choking. Desperation.

"I want to see you seeing me! I want to hear you listening and responding and wanting me just as much as I want you! I need it... And I wanted it for my own... But I know it won't happen, and now there's no point, so just leave. Exit's to the right.."

"...Hnn..." she responds softly.

And that's when he feels it, a strong hesitant grip on his arm, small thin fingers wrapping around his and squeezing for an infinitesimal second in time.

"I'm not leaving..."

"You have to."

"No."

Yes."

"I want my answers..."

This is when he loses it. Eyes open, cold salty tears spilling down dusky cheeks, he moves with a quickness, and before the seconds have time to grow wings, he presses her against the back of his chair, hands gripping her wrists. He grinds closer to the foreign warmth of her body and she doesn't move, doesn't breathe, doesn't even blink. Just stands there motionless.

"Because in the end, Roxy, the bad guy never gets the girl for good. He only gets her while she's tied up... And then, she leaves. I'll never have you."

He blinks furiously, cheeks hot and ashamed of such raw emotion, of such truths, and then, before he knows her, there is a sudden softness about the moment. Such a raw motion, he barely has time to process the seconds before his vision turns red.

Her lips against his, she brings him closer by hooking her right foot around his ankle. Her lips are chaffed and weather worn, and her skin is hot and clammy. His grip has long since loosened on her wrists, and she presses herself into him, hips flush against his, as he struggles to maintain composure.

They'd lost it long ago.

As she slowly pulls herself away, lips not swollen but red and numb, she watches him slump to the chair.

"I can't stay..."

He blinks. "You never could."

She wants to touch him, so badly... But she can't. You can't dance with the devil and not get burnt. She repeats this like a mantra inside of her head, hypnotizing herself.

"I can leave...?"

He looks up bitterly. "Go..."

So she walks to the door, free to do as she wishes, and stops. Looks back. He is a shadow, placid and worn. Tired, cold.

"You want me to leave...?" she asks.

And he doesn't answer, because all he can do is motion weakly to the door.

She smiles. Of course not.

Before he knows it, she's back in the chair, and she's tying the ropes around her own wrists, using her teeth to pull the rough knots taught.

His eyebrows rise warily. "...what are you doing?"

She stares at him pointedly, lips smirking and soft and genteel, and so fucking unreal. He watches as she licks her lips and turns her nose up like nothing's happened at all.

"You really want to know?"

He does. "I do..."

She smiles.

"Waiting to be rescued."

"..Uh..."

A sigh. "..Still waiting here..."

It is then that his legs move with a swiftness, with a purpose towards her chair, hands itching and sweating. The moment is still, breathless. His voice cracks. "Have you been waiting long?"

She snorts. "Long enough."

In the end, the knots are nothing, and the rope swims lonesome on the floor.

**_A/N_**

**_She's back? And with a new fandom as well. Expect more from this chick XD_**

**_~ TMoh_**


End file.
